I’m forcing myself to have an M.O.T. This amount of exhaustion can’t go on
indefinitely. I’ve given it a good
shot. As Winston Churchill himself said
‘When you’re going through Hell, keep going!’ and I have…….the days have turned
into weeks, into months and even into years.
I’m knackered. My bed is my most
favourite place in the whole world! If I
get a spare hour in the day with nothing scheduled, I crawl back under the
covers and set the alarm for a nap! Surely
this isn’t normal? So I made an
appointment and pottered off to see the ‘ever changing’ multi-cultural GP at
the local practice.
I don’t have a good run of luck with GP’s if I’m
honest. From the ‘WOAH! Where is this
bite exactly!?’ as I dropped my jeans to show the Canadian GP my bite wound
(inflicted by my OWN bloody dog!), to the ‘you have very nice eyes’ comment
from the Iranian GP that was about to conduct my pap smear to the same GP on
another occasion telling me that I’d have ‘no problem finding a man to f*ck me’
after my marriage split and how on another occasion he told me that he ‘pops a
viagra and f*cks like a train all night!’ Get the picture? If Carlsberg made GPs…… I wouldn’t get one! I’d
get the cheap, goon version!
So I made the appointment online and then the stressing
started. I REALLY hate going to the
Doctors. I’m not a hypochondriac and
would rather bury my head in the sand than have any preventative stuff done,
but I am an ADULT. I am being
RESPONSIBLE. I am too FUCKING TIRED for
all this shit! I rehearsed my concerns
and also wanted a mole check (which I have been putting off for approximately
25 years (see above!)). International GP
was nice. I reeled off my concerns. Depression can cause extreme exhaustion
apparently. He asked me the questions
for the ‘are you depressed today’ quick crossword test. I think I passed. Apparently, given the level of stress I am
under, I scored well. He asked if I had
any suicidal thoughts. I asked if
homicidal counted? He laughed and said
no. I explained that I deal with things
through humour. There’s always hope – he
smiled – and if hope doesn’t work – there’s bed….with blankets and if you pull
them tightly enough over your head, the monsters can’t get you!
He suggested a blood test with ‘the works’ and wrote down more abbreviations than I’ve seen since Darcie’s Future Directions Evening. I Googled them all later in the evening, but still didn’t understand what most of them meant. He gave my moles the once over too. Nothing to be concerned about, but there’s a couple I would like removed. I have one like a rice bubble that’s very unattractive and I’m sure they keep appearing like a midnight constellation. Mystic Meg could probably work out a birth chart based on my mole alignment, so ‘off with their heads!’. It’s a simple procedure that he does in the surgery apparently, so once he’s back from his month long, GP holiday, I will book in and have my mole in a hole removed. Just in time for summer and for me to burn the shit out of my skin all over again.
So I went for my blood test whilst I was there. Somehow we got talking about donating bones
from hip replacements and giving them to dogs(!) on to pigs ears and how
expensive they are. I made the comment
that it wasn’t very fair for the pigs, there must be fields full of them with
lopsided glasses having lost an ear. I
suppose they could try contacts, but how could you insert a contact lense with
a piggy little trotter? Inevitably, the
phlebotomist looked at me like I was completely nutty – another day, another
look of WTF?
